Andrew Gross 3-Book Thriller Collection 1: The Dark Tide, Don’t Look Twice, Relentless. Andrew Gross

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СКАЧАТЬ knows about the accident. He also knows about that other thing in New Jersey. He somehow broke into my house. He’s linked me with one of the other witnesses. You beginning to get an idea what I’m talking about now?”

      Under his breath Lennick gasped, “Jesus Christ!” He was no longer staring at the pore but at his face, which had turned white.

      “Sit down. It gets worse.”

      “How the hell can it get worse, Dietz?”

      “You remember Hodges? One of my men.”

      “Go on.”

      “He’s been shot.”

      Lennick’s chest began to feel like he was having a heart attack. Dietz told him how Hodges had gone to Dietz’s house and found the cop. Inside. How the two of them had tussled.

      “Now, listen, before you bust an artery, Saul, there’s some good news.”

      “What can be good about this?” Lennick sat down.

      “He has no grounds. The Greenwich detective. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it alone. It’s not part of any official investigation. He broke into my house. He brought a gun in there and used it. He didn’t make a move to arrest Hodges. You see what this means?”

      “No,” Lennick said, panicked, “I don’t see what this means.”

      “It means he’s completely out of his jurisdiction, Saul. He was simply sneaking around. Before I called you, I called up his station up in Greenwich. The guy’s on fucking leave! He’s freelancing, Saul. He’s not even on active duty. If it came out what he did, they’d take his badge. They’d arrest him, not me.”

      A dull pain flared up in Lennick’s chest. He ran a hand through his white hair, sweat building up underneath his pajama top. He immediately retraced the steps of what anyone could have known that could have led back to him.

      He exhaled. It was all Dietz.

      “Here’s the kicker,” Dietz went on. “I had someone I know up there keep an eye on him. At night he’s been watching over a house in Greenwich in his own car.”

      “Whose?”

      “A woman. Someone you know well, Saul.”

      Lennick blanched. “Karen?”

      He tried to piece it together. Did Karen somehow know? Even if she had found out about the incident with Lauer, how would she possibly have connected it with the other? A year ago. She had found the safe-deposit box, the passport, the cash.

       Did Karen somehow know that Charles was alive?

      Lennick moistened his lips. They had to speed this up. He pressed Dietz. “How are things going down there?”

      “We’re making progress. I’ve had to do some ‘off-road’ stuff, if you know what I mean. But that never seemed to bother you before. I think he’s on a boat somewhere. But somewhere close. I’ve traced him through three of his banks. He’ll need money. I’ll have him soon. I’m closing in.

      “But, listen,” Dietz said, “regarding the detective, he may have found certain things in my office … related to what I’m doing here. Maybe even about you. I can’t be sure.”

      A police detective? Things were growing deeper than Lennick was comfortable with. That was surely crossing the line. Still, what choice did he have?

      “You know how to handle these things, Phil. I’ve got to go.”

      “One more thing,” Dietz said. “If the detective knows, there’s always the chance that she knows, too. I realize you’re friendly. That you have something to do with her kids.”

      “Yes,” Lennick muttered blankly. He was fond of Karen. And, having been like an uncle to them since they were small, in charge of their family trusts, you could say he did have something to do with the kids.

      But it was business. Lauer had been business, the Raymond kid had been business, too. The furrows on his face were carved deep and hard. They made him seem older—older than he’d felt in years.

      “Just do whatever it is you have to do.”

      Lennick clicked off. He splashed some water on his face, smoothed back his hair. Shuffling in his slippers, he trudged back to bed.

      The evening news had finished. Mimi had turned off the light. David Letterman was on. Lennick turned to her to see if she was asleep. “Shall we catch the monologue, dear?”

CHAPTER SEVENTY

      Karen waited two days. Charles didn’t reply.

      She wasn’t sure he ever would.

      She knew Charles. She tried to imagine the shock and dismay that her e-mail must have caused.

      The same shock he had caused when she saw his face up on that screen.

      Karen checked her e-mails several times a day. She knew what must be going through him now. Sitting in some remote part of the globe, the careful construct of his new life suddenly crumbling. It must be killing him—retracing every step, running through a thousand possibilities.

       How could she possibly know?

      How many times, Karen imagined, he would have read over those two words. Replaying everything in his mind, racking his brain, all the preparations he had made. His bowels acting up. Not sleeping. Things always affected Charles that way. You owe me, she said to him silently, relishing this image of him, panicked, rocked. You owe me for the hurt you put me through. The lies …

      Still, she couldn’t forgive him. Not for what he’d done to her—to the kids. She no longer knew if there was love between them. If there was anything still between them, other than the memory of a life spent together. Still, it didn’t matter. She just wanted to hear from him. She wanted to see him—face-to-face.

       Answer me, Charlie …

      Finally, after three days, Karen typed out another message. She closed her eyes and begged him.

       Please, Charlie, please….I know it’s you. I know you’re out there. Answer me, Charlie. You can’t hide any longer. I know what you’ve done.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

       I know what you’ve done!

      Charles sat in the corner of a quiet Internet café in the harbor on Mustique, where he had put in, staring in horror at Karen’s latest message.

      A collection of dreadlocked locals drinking Jamaican beer and a party of itinerant German surfers in tattoos and bandannas. He had a pressing fear, even here, that everything was closing in on him.

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